Confession

I thought she had pomegranate

Stuck between her teeth,

Then she drank my lips,

Swallowed my tongue,

And made me taste the stagnant pulse

Of a past lover who wrote

Sinners in the hands of an angry God

With the fine point of a dagger

Carved out of their own femur.

I imagined their flyaways,

Their flared nostrils and feral pupils,

Their clenched teeth,

Their pleads for repentance and erratic breaths

Punching their chest until the sternum falls

And dissolves into ash in their stomach acid.

They dissolved as well,

When they lunged forward

And stuck the dagger into her abdomen,

Missing all of the vital parts ,

Leaving themselves open to turning blue

Within her arms.

I felt their lungs collapse

In the way I began to turn blue, too,

And when my vision switched

From a cloudless sky to white noise,

She pulled away with a clean mouth.